


And All that Could Have Been

by brodylover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blindness, Bondage, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Rings, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominant/Top Dean, F/M, Flogging, Healing, Heterosexual Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Scars, Self Confidence Issues, Slow Build, Submissive/Bottom Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodylover/pseuds/brodylover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, a doctor at a local hospital, decides he wants a sub. He finds Cas, known as Jimmy, and hires him. No one has wanted Cas since his previous dom broke him, scarring him. He's desperate and eager to please.<br/>updates weekly</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I am Tainted

Dean was not uncomfortable in these kinds of clubs. He didn’t go them often, but he did check them out every once in a while. He used to be a bit hands on, touching and flogging as tools were handed to him. He liked it at first. He stopped though, realizing that it just wasn’t enough. Dominating someone that you didn’t know, that didn’t belong to you, felt strange and detached.  
He’d saved his money though and this time, when he walked through, he looked at all of the pretty boys and girls in a different light. They were no longer unattainable for him. And he talked to the girl at the bar, a nice girl named Rachel, who pointed him the way to Zachariah’s office.  
He was dressed casually and seeing Zachariah in his nice suit, he felt underdressed. He felt like he wasn’t going to be welcomed into this word or even given a chance. They spoke though, in the dark comfort of his office, about what it was that Dean was looking for. He wanted someone nice, someone easy to work with, someone who didn’t have a lot on their plate. Zachariah thought for a bit and then he pulled out an old fashioned pager from his pocket and dialed a number.  
It wasn’t long after that there was a knock on the door. After being told to come in a young man entered. He didn’t even look like he was old enough to work at the club. He kept his head down, eyes averted, hands behind his back. He was wearing a red and white striped corset and an apron.  
“This is Sammy.” Zachariah introduced.  
Dean shivered. There was no way he wanted to hire someone with the same name as his brother. He tried to explain that as politely as possible and Sammy was sent away, easily.  
Zachariah paged another and this time there was no knock. The door was thrown open by a shorter man with bright gold eyes and a crooked smile.  
“Loki, meet Dean.” Zachariah waved.  
Dean liked Loki. He knew it was a fake name, they all probably had fake names, but Loki fit him. He wasn’t what Dean wanted though. Sure, he was kind of attractive and he acted like he had a lot of experience, but Dean could tell that he would be fighting for control the whole time. There was no way he would be submissive enough.  
Zachariah thought. He pulled out files and read them. He looked Dean over. Then a creepy smile came over his face and he was paging another of his boys.  
This time the knock was hesitant, almost scared. Dean thought there was going to be a little kid behind the door, he knocked so softly. When Zachariah told him to come in he did so slowly. If Sammy had looked submissive, this guy looked downright abused.  
He had a strong jaw and dark hair and a scuffling of stubble along his jaw. His head was bowed forward and, unlike the others, he was fully dressed. He had not been in the bar above. He wore a disheveled suit that looked years old and a long trench coat that looked even older.  
He did not sit in the chair across from Dean. Instead he knelt down on the floor, head still down, at Zachariah’s side. He did not move.  
“Dean. Jimmy.” Zachariah motioned. Dean sat forward in his chair, looking down at the man. He seemed to be a little bit older than Dean, but not much.  
“Hey Jimmy.” Dean smiled. He wanted to see the guy’s eyes.  
He looked up at Zachariah, questioningly.  
“Yes, you can speak.” Zachariah offered.  
“Hello.” His voice was rough, raspy. It sounded like it was damaged.  
“So?” Zachariah was looking at Dean, waiting.  
“I like him so far.” Dean promised. “But I don’t know yet.”  
“Just let him know what you want from your relationship and he’ll tell you what he wants. From there you discuss rules and what can and cannot be done. Then there’s an examination, if you want it” Jimmy shifted uncomfortably at that, “And then contracts. If you change your mind at any time, Jimmy will be sent out and someone knew will be brought in.”  
Dean thought. What exactly did he want? This guy looked like he wanted a hug, like he wanted someone to take care of him, and that’s what got Dean his answer.  
“I want to take care of someone.” He admitted, “I want to be able to come home and have someone waiting for me, someone who I can control. I don’t have a lot of control in my life. I want to feel like a God, have someone worship me.”  
Jimmy licked his lips. They were pink and chapped and plush. They looked like they were made for sucking cock.  
“Jimmy?” Zachariah pushed.  
“I want.” Jimmy hesitated. He bit his lip. He looked like he wanted to curl in on himself, “I want to be good. I want to make someone happy. I want to please you. I want to be told that I’m good when I am and punished when I’m not.”  
And if that wasn’t perfect Dean didn’t know what was.  
“It sounds like you two match up there at least. Dean, do you have any rules for what you want to do with Jimmy here?”  
“Ugh, yeah.” Dean tried not to, but he couldn’t stop staring at the guy’s lips. He wondered what they would feel like under his own, or against his fingers, or wrapped around his dick, “Every Monday. I want him to be at my apartment, ready to go. He must come when I call, be ready to drop whatever he’s doing and come to me. I won’t share him with anyone here. If I call and I’m drunk, he must not come, not even if I threaten to punish him.”  
“Wait.” Zachariah puffed up, kind of like a bird, got larger, more protective. “Drunk? You know, I won’t let any more harm come to my boys. If you have aggression issues and you solve them with alcohol, I am not going to put Jimmy in your care.”  
“Relax.” Dean put his hands up, “I’m not going to hurt him. I would never want to. I mean, look at that face, who would want to hurt that?” Jimmy curled in on himself, uncomfortable. “I drink out of depression, not anger. I mean, I can be pretty angry at times, but I don’t take it out on people. And like I said, he better not come when I’m drinking.”  
“Alright.” Zachariah relaxed. Jimmy did not. “Anything else?”  
“Nothing that I can think of.”  
“Jimmy?”  
He cleared his throat. His wrists went together as if they were bound but stayed in front of him. His shoulders rose. He looked terrified.  
“It’s okay.” Zachariah told him, “You can say it.”  
“Um.”  
Dean wanted to hold him. He wanted to wrap his arms around this guy and hold him close. He didn’t like seeing how scared he was. He hoped that when they were together he’d loosen up a bit.  
“Please.” He started again, “Don’t call me angel. Don’t cause permanent damage to my body. When I safe word, you have to actually respect that.” That all made sense. Other than the pet name thing, it was all common sense. Dean would never ignore his safe word or hurt him terribly. “When I leave you, I leave. You cannot control me or my body when I’m not there. Please don’t punish me for missing visual cues.”  
That one had Dean confused. He wasn’t very good with his words. “What’s wrong with visual cues?”  
Jimmy wouldn’t answer him. Dean was slightly aware that he was shaking.  
Zachariah answered for him, “He’s blind in one eye. He misses a lot of visual stuff.”  
Blind. Okay. Dean stared at him, how nervous he was, how scared, how he worried at his lip and rubbed the pads of his hands with his thumbs.  
That just made him more pathetic, more in need of Dean’s protection.  
“I’ll do it.” He agreed. “I won’t break your rules.”  
Jimmy’s shaking faded away.  
“Alright, now let’s get started on the contracts!” Zachariah seemed excited. So did Jimmy and he looked up at Zachariah and Dean finally saw a little smile on his face. It did not reach his eyes though.  
“Wait.” Dean said, holding out a hand. The two men stopped and Jimmy looked small again. “Isn’t there an examination?”  
Jimmy tightened up, his head fell forward, he was almost in a fetal position. The shaking resumed, worse than before.  
Zachariah placed a hand on his shoulder and he visibly flinched at the contact. “It’s okay, you can do this.”  
“Please.” Jimmy’s voice was cracking, breaking, “Please don’t make me. You won’t want me after you see.”  
“Let me be the judge of that.” Dean fought the urge to fall to his knees, to kneel before the terrified man, to wipe away the tears beading in his thick eyelashes. “I’ve seen a lot of bad shit, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”  
Jimmy stood up, slowly. He pulled off his beige coat and Zachariah took it from him. There was nothing sexy in the removal of his clothes. The tip of his nose was red, as were his cheeks, and Dean could see big heavy drops fall from his eyes. Next came his pants and they were loosely folded before being handed away. Then the boxers. He wasn’t large, nor small. He was average, with dark hair surrounding his penis. After that was his faded blue tie and his white button up shirt.  
He stood in his wife beater, arms crossed over his chest. He was sobbing and hiccupping and Dean was gripping the arms of the chair so hard that his knuckles were turning white.  
“I don’t.” he gasped, “I don’t want to. Do this. You don’t want me. You want someone good. You want a good boy who can make you happy. I’m sorry.”  
“Hey.” Zachariah was firm, more firm than Dean liked, as he grabbed Jimmy’s elbow. “You need a job. You will take your shirt off. If Dean wants you you will go with him. If not we’ll keep trying. But if you don’t strip now I’ll kick you out of my club and you’ll never work again.”  
Jimmy made a tight wail in his throat, tightening. The threat of punishment wasn’t helping. Dean’s legs were shaking, every muscle tense. Something had happened, something bad, and Jimmy hadn’t had a job since. He was terrified that he never would because of what had happened.  
Dean wanted to leap to his side and make everything alright.  
Jimmy pulled off his shirt. He pulled himself upright, perfect posture, but he kept his head down and he clasped his hands behind his back.  
He was muscular, but not overly so. On his chest though, that’s what he hadn’t wanted Dean to see.  
In the middle of a chest was a massive scar. It was in the shape of a circle, obviously purposeful and in the middle there was a shape, almost like a four. There were some squiggles around it and a triangle at the top.  
“And your back?”  
Jimmy turned. There were deeper scars there, a mass of them, one over the other, over his shoulder blades, as if someone had tried to scribble them out.  
“You don’t want me.” Jimmy sobbed, “I’m no good. This is what happens when you’re a bad boy, when you disappoint people. You want someone better.”  
Dean wasn’t in his chair anymore. He couldn’t just sit there any longer. He was up and he was touching, being careful not to touch the scars, as he pulled Jimmy in and wrapped his arms around him. He could feel the moisture soaking through his shirt but he didn’t care. He stroked the man’s wrists with calming fingers, let Jimmy cry and shake, and he hummed to him. He hummed old songs, the kind his mother had liked before she’d died.  
Jimmy slowly calmed down.  
“I’m never going to hurt you like this.” He promised. “It doesn’t mean you’re bad. It means you were with someone who was cruel and terrible. I want you, regardless.”  
Jimmy leaned against him then, his hands still behind his back.  
“Well I’ll go get the contracts ready then!” Zachariah smiled, trying to lighten the mood before he turned away from them and digging through his desk for the right papers.


	2. And promises and left behinds

He was going to throw up. There was a hot stickiness clinging to the bottom of his ribs and it threatened to climb up his throat. He was going to be sick. He was lightheaded and hot and he felt he was going to pass out.   
He closed his eyes and breathed. It was just nerves, he would be fine. And if he did have to throw up he didn’t have anything to throw up anyway. And if he did pass out Dean could have his way with him regardless. Who knows, that could have been a turn on of his.   
He pulled up the welcome mat in front of the apartment and took the key. Dean had told him it would be there and at least that was true. He didn’t want to get there just to have been lied to, finding the door locked and with him stuck outside, waiting.   
He entered and breathing was already easier. He wasn’t in some kind of dungeon and there weren’t toys everywhere. This was just a simple apartment. It wasn’t even clean. Well, it was, but in the way that a messy person cleans at the last minute. It was homey and cheap.   
The only sign that this was where he would be owned by another person was the kitchen table. It had been cleared off, all of the papers on it bundled up and tossed onto a chair, leaving it completely bare except for a moderately sized anal plug, a fresh bottle of lube, and a note.   
He picked it up and he moved his lips as he read:  
“Take off as much of your clothing as you are comfortable with. Use as much lube as you like to plug yourself. Do not touch your cock and do not fuck yourself on the toy. Sit on the floor and wait for me.”  
He looked around. There were no cameras there, Dean didn’t seem to be the kind of person who was into that, but it had become habit long ago. He swallowed, feeling the need to vomit again. He slipped off his coat though, folded it nicely and placed it on the ground. Next came the blazer, then the pants and briefs, the shoes, the socks, the tie, and lastly the shirt. He kept his stained white wife beater on. The rest was folded in a nice little pile.   
The note had said nothing about fingers, so Cas did not use them. He did use enough lube to coat the plug though and rubbed a bit against the ridge of his hole. He hadn’t done this in a while. When he wasn’t with a dom he was practically celibate. He hadn’t been stretched in any way in months.   
The tip went in easily but at about a quarter inch it stopped. He whined. He looked up at the clock and saw that he only had fifteen minutes until Dean was due home from work. He had to get the plug in. It was his first day, he didn’t want to be a disappointment. He especially didn’t want to be fired.   
So he set the base on the ground and forced his ass down. He whimpered as it burned in his hole, pushing unused muscles apart and filling him more than he’d been used to. He should have practiced, he should have stretched, he should have been prepared.   
He pulled fully off of the toy and lay face first on the soft carpet, breathing and feeling his ass pulse. When the pain faded he stayed in that position but grabbed the plug and lined it back up, sinking it in further before the pain made him curl in on himself.   
He breathed through it, holding it in with his hands. Ten minutes. He clenched his eyes closed, pushed, whined in his throat, then there it was, deep inside of him. It hurt, yes, and he was pulsing again, his muscles screaming out at him, but he sat up, posture perfect. The pain would fade.   
By the time the door opened it was completely gone and the plug felt like it was at home in his body.   
Dean smiled at him as he pulled away his own jacket and set down his bag by the door.   
“You actually came!” he seemed legitimately surprised.   
Jimmy clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head, “It’s in the contract.” was his response.   
Dean walked up to him, fully dressed and didn’t say a word until he had a hand against Jimmy’s jaw, leading him up to make eye contact. “I want you to look at me.” His voice was soft, unusual. “I like your eyes.”  
Dean looked around him, eyeing the plug in his ass and the redness of the hole, “And look at you, doing what I say so well.”  
Jimmy fought the urge to look away. He didn’t like making eye contact. But Dean was gorgeous, he had to admit. Plump smiling lips, a bit of stubble, big green eyes, and a constellation of freckles. He was the prettiest Jimmy had been with.   
And, unlike Jimmy, he was completely hard. He touched himself through his slacks, rubbing against his palm and humming through the friction. The hand on Jimmy’s jaw turned, a thumb reaching up for his lips. Jimmy opened his mouth, knowing what was coming. The thumb entered, tasting of latex gloves and rubbed against his teeth, he turned Jimmy one way or another, inspecting his mouth.   
“Perfect.” He muttered and then he was unzipping his slacks and pulling out his erection. He was freckled there too. “I want to see you sucking down my cock.” He kept his thumb on Jimmy’s molars, making it impossible for him to close his mouth, “And I don’t want to feel any teeth. Do I make myself clear?”  
Jimmy nodded and the thumb was pulled away. He licked his lips and shifted forward, ready to take the length of Dean. He hoped that his gag reflex hadn’t come back.   
Dean was kind though and he didn’t press deep. It was all shallow thrusts at first, Dean’s hand on the base as he steered in. Each motion was a little deeper and Jimmy was good to keep glancing up, keep making eye contact. It didn’t always stick though as Dean reached his tonsils and threw his head back, moaning.   
Jimmy closed his eyes as his stomach rumbled. A terrible deep growl that seemed so loud in the room. He froze, eyes snapping open and he was staring at Dean, terrified. Dean was cracking up, a hand over his eyes as he bent forward. Jimmy wanted to curl up in a ball and hide away. This was so embarrassing and now Dean was laughing and there was no way he was going to finish in Jimmy’s mouth and he wouldn’t want him. He’d already pulled away and he was still laughing.   
Jimmy bowed down, head against the floor. He made himself as small and subservient in appearance, still holding his hands behind him.   
“Dude, when’s the last time you ate?” Dean asked through his panting when the laughter finally subsided.   
Jimmy bit his lip, “This morning, sir.”  
All of the humor left Dean then and he was kneeling down beside Jimmy. He could feel his hand, the heat of it, just above his back. There were rules though.   
“What did you eat?” he asked in all seriousness.  
Jimmy rolled his shoulders up to his ears, “I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to make such noise. I’m sorry.”   
The hand landed on his head and Dean was petting his thick hair. “Hey, no need to apologize. You can’t control your bodily functions. Now, what did you eat today?”  
Jimmy gulped. “A power bar… And an egg and a piece of toast.”  
Dean pulled away and now he did sound disappointed, “That’s all?”  
Jimmy wanted to be invisible, “Yes sir.”  
But he was being pulled up, strong arms on his shoulders, and forced back to make eye contact again. “Is that your usual diet?” Dean wasn’t disappointed, he’d heard wrong. He was worried.   
“I haven’t had a job in a long while.” Jimmy confessed. “Zachariah loans me money but I use it sparingly. I can’t pay him back without a job.”  
“You mean a job job, not a job like this?”  
“I mean a job in general.”  
One of Dean’s hands rose to cup his cheek and it was so warm, so kind, Jimmy pressed his face against it. “Who wouldn’t hire you? I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous. You could be a model.”  
Jimmy shivered, closing his eyes. He would have preferred being beaten than hearing that.  
“Please don’t lie to me out of pity.” His voice cracked.   
Dean left him though, stood up, and the soothing fingers were gone. “Stay here.” he ordered and he walked away. Jimmy was a failure in all sense of the word and he imagined himself melting like an ice cube into the carpet.   
Instead he heard water running and the stove being turned on. “You want spaghetti?” Dean called out.   
He perked up, “Are you sure?”  
“I need dinner tonight anyway.” Dean promised.   
“Then yes sir. Thank you sir.”  
Then there was silence other than the sound of Dean cooking. Jimmy sat there, stomach rumbling. He looked around, trying to figure out who Dean was. There were medical books on the shelf and strewn about and he was dressed well, so a doctor, probably. That was most likely why he was so worried about Jimmy’s eating habits.   
He only brought one plate of spaghetti back to the the table though and Jimmy wondered if this was his punishment, not to eat, but to sit and watch as Dean gorged himself. He could feel his eyes starting to burn as Dean sat down and situated himself.   
“Well?” Dean asked, “Do you want to eat down there or do you want to come to the table?”  
Jimmy froze and then the burning was gone and he pulled himself to his feet, shakily. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been on his knees and they ached slightly. He did want to eat at the table. He hobbled over, awkward with the plug in his ass and looked at the empty chair.   
Dean shook his head though and patted his lap. “You’ll sit here, facing me.”  
Jimmy did as he was told. He’d already been such a disappointment, he was sure Dean would fire him if he did again. He straddled Dean’s hips and worried about the plug, which felt like it was going to slide out.   
Dean didn’t seem to feel his weight, he leaned forward, his shoulder right against Jimmy’s chest, and twirled his fork in the pasta. He sat back, holding it out and Jimmy ate it hesitantly. It wasn’t unusual for doms to feed their subs, but it was unusual for them to start with it, or to be this kind.   
Dean had the next bite himself and then fed him another. They continued the way until Jimmy felt full, and there was still half a plate of spaghetti left.   
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, bowing his head. He had not been given permission to speak.  
“Because you’re hungry.” Dean answered matter of factually.  
“I haven’t earned it though.”  
Dean took his chin in hand, led his face up so that they were making eye contact. “You don’t think you deserve this. Well, I’ll tell you, this is part of it. You sitting here, doing what I say, it’s showing me how obedient you are.”  
Dean was lying, of course he was. “Don’t pity me. Please.”  
Dean ran a thumb down his cheek though, getting it stuck on Jimmy’s lip and dragging it down to show his teeth. “I’m not showing pity. I’m taking care of you so that you can do your job.”  
He squinted and looked closer. “You have a scar, just over your eye.” Then he looked more serious, peering at it, “Is it from a surgery?”  
Jimmy shook his head. “A job.”  
“Oh.” Dean sounded deflated. He stopped looking at the scar though, looked at his lap, watching as Jimmy’s thighs trembled. “Does that hurt?”  
Jimmy bit his lip. “A little.” He admitted. Dean seemed to want full honesty.   
“Up.” He ordered and Jimmy was off, standing to the side. He kept his head down as Dean cleared the table, taking the leftovers into the kitchen. “Down the hall, second door. I want you in there, hands and knees. Take out the plug and stroke yourself. You are allowed to edge yourself, but you’re not allowed to come. I’ll be there when the kitchen is taken care of.”  
Jimmy nodded and obeyed, heading down the hall and to the room specified. There were no toys in there, no ropes or gags. It was a bedroom. There was nothing special about it.   
Jimmy closed the door behind him, leaning against it and sliding to the ground. His head was in his hands, the tears he was trying to keep in before tumbling out now, running down his cheeks, pooling on the floor below. He had been so nervous and now it was all boiling over.   
What if he couldn’t do this? Why was Dean being so nice to him? He had so many questions and here he was, sitting on the floor, crying, not doing what he’d been asked.   
Still crying, he got to his feet, crawled onto the bed. He did what he’d been asked and it felt god, even though there were still tears dripping off his chin.   
He sniffed, tried to hide them when he heard the door open behind him. He felt the bed shift underneath him, felt as Dean’s hands touched his ass, spread his cheeks, and he inspected his hole.   
“Would you look at that? All red and puffy and loose.” He pressed a finger inside and Jimmy was shaking, over sensitive. “You want me to fuck you?”  
“Do I get a say in that?” Jimmy asked.  
“Of course. I’m not going to do anything to hurt you.”  
“Do what you want.” Jimmy tried to stay still, “It’s what I’m here for.”  
He could hear Dean undo his trousers, could hear the bottle of lubricant open up. And then there he was, lining up with his hole. He pushed in until he was balls deep on the first try and Jimmy had to fight from crying out. The tears were falling all over again.   
“It is going to get harder.” Dean warned. “I know this isn’t what you expected, but I don’t want to force you into anything. We have time to take it slow, but it will build up. I will act like the dom you expect eventually.”  
And then he started moving and Jimmy fought every scream.


	3. You meant everything

Dean was floating. He strolled through the hospital, coat billowing around him, reading his charts and not seeing the real problem. Last night had been amazing. It had had a bumpy start sure, but soon he had Jimmy coming for him all over the sheets of his bed while he was still deep inside of him.   
And then there had been that morning. Dean had grumbled something in his sleep and woken up alone, scared. He’d ordered Jimmy to stay with him that night. It wasn’t until he came back with a cup of black coffee that Dean realized he had grumbled out his need for caffeine and the guy had taken it as an order. That was only the beginning though and he had Jimmy crawl under the sheets, suck him off, not allowed to make him come until he was done with his coffee. It had been hard not to. Jimmy’s mouth was amazing.   
They then went to make breakfast and Jimmy knelt by his side the whole time, watching him cook, not touching his own hard cock. Dean hadn’t been able to stop himself from petting his head, like he was some small animal, but he leaned into it, closing his eyes. Dean didn’t let him eat though, not yet. He pulled out his bag of toys, the one he kept hidden under his bed, and laid them out on the table.   
He got to see Jimmy fuck himself on those toys, almost naked and up on the table, legs spread as his pushed a dildo in and out of his still sensitive hole. His face was flushed, his dick leaking precome all over him, and Dean tried not to look too interested in him. He wanted to see just how far Jimmy would go.   
He ended up taking the largest toy, a pulsing rubber cock and pressing it into his hole, licking the other toys clean. He fucked himself on it and whined, hips bucking, before he even turned it on. Dean was hurting his hand, clutching his fork so hard, watching as Jimmy’’s head fell back and his ass swallowed the inches of black rubber.   
He was half hard just remembering it, remembering how he didn’t even finish his breakfast to grab Jimmy, pull out the toy, and fuck him against the table, even though he had just come within the hour. He had made Jimmy scream and he couldn’t wait t get off work. He was already thinking about calling or texting Jimmy, get him there to his place that night. But a hand fell on his arm and he was dragged the nearest empty room.   
“Well, look at you!” the Chief of Medicine said, “Haven’t seen you this happy in, well, a long time anyhoo. You get laid or something boy?”  
Dean’s grin broadened, “Oh you wouldn’t believe it, Bobby.”  
“I sure can. Remember, I was the one who saw your face the morning after you were with Jo.”  
The joy in Dean’s face, his heart, fell away. Jo. God, he missed her. He hadn’t thought about her at all in the past month and now, there he was, heart aching all over again. Bobby put a hand on his shoulder, steered him to look at him.   
“This isn’t another broken bird, right? I picked up the pieces before, boy, I don’t know if I can do it again.”  
“Not a broken bird, no.” Dean promised, “But I think there’s a twig in its wing. Something’s keeping it from flying.”   
“Dean, there’s nothing you can do. You don’t have to take care of everyone.”  
Dean shrugged him off. How dare he say that? He was a doctor; it was his job to take care of everyone. It was the whole reason he had studied medicine in the first place. No one gets left behind.   
“I’m not falling in love or anything, Bobby.” He promised, “It’s just… something to distract me.”  
“Wait. You’re not in love with someone you’re sleeping with? Dean, I know you. Better than your pop did, I reckon. I’ve seen you go through one night stands. None of them left you like this.”  
“None of them were this good.” Dean shrugged, “Or coming back.”  
“So not a one night stand, not a girlfriend, you got yourself a whore or something?”  
“I’m not going to talk to you about this.” Dean turned, ready to bolt. But Bobby was grabbing him again and, not only was he the chief of medicine, he was Dean’s friend. He was a father figure, the one who had gotten him into medicine in the first place.   
“Dean, wild birds don’t do well with people. You think you can mend them and send them on their way but you can’t. They don’t fare well afterwards. And you fare even worse. So let her go.”  
“I’ll be fine, Bobby.” Dean promised, “I’m not trying to save them or anything. I’m not trying to get them off the streets. They’re clean, kind, a bit shy. It’s just for fun.”  
“Make sure it stays that way.” Bobby nodded, “And make sure it doesn’t interfere with your work.”  
“Yes sir.”  
Dean got out of that room as fast as he could. His fast growing erection had flat lined and he had a coating of sweat on him, a tremble in his fingers, a lump in his throat. He loved Bobby, but there were times when he just said the wrong thing, or maybe the right thing, to get under his skin.   
He had to take a break. Sure he hadn’t done much of anything yet, but he couldn’t talk to patients like this. Not with his emotions out there and raw. How could he have not thought about Jo? How could he have let his mind wander away from her?  
He started walking down the halls, not looking at anyone, his head down. Jo, with her pale sun-lit hair. Jo, with her long face and slow smile. Jo, with her narrow fingers, which would wrap around Dean’s wrist when she was sad or frightened or worried.   
He had promised Jo so many things. He’d promised to fix her, that she wouldn’t end up like her daddy. He’d promised to take her to the Grand Canyon. He’d promised that everything would be alright.   
And he’d failed her.   
He didn’t know how he’d gotten there, but there he was. Walking blindly through a hospital was a dumb thing to do. Now he was standing in front of the room that he always avoided. There was someone else in it now, a feeding tube down their throat, but it was still that room.   
It was Jo’s room. He purposefully avoided it most of the time, but now he was here. That bed, she had died in it. He hadn’t delivered on any of his promises. There was a fresh coat of paint on the walls, but he could still see the splatter of blood on it. He could still see the red stain on the floor, even though it had been recarpeted.   
He stood there for a while, just staring at the door. It was the closest he could get to visiting Jo’s grave after the funeral. His eyes were burning, his hands clenching into fists. He was biting his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.   
He raced off to the bathroom, not wanting to cry there, in his hospital. He hated crying. His father had treated it as a sign of weakness and he felt the same way. So he made it to the bathroom and washed his face with cold water, trying to cool the redness in his eyes and cheeks.   
He sat on the toilet and breathed, head back, eyes up. He tried to will the tears away but now, all he could see was Jo in his mind, Ellen’s face when they’d found her. All of the people that he wasn’t able to save.   
He needed a drink.   
He was at work though and he was trying to cut down and before he knew what he was doing he had his phone in his hand.   
‘Jimmy. Need you tonight. It might be rough. Be ready for anything.’  
He sent the text and then waited for his body to calm down, head falling into his hands.


	4. In My Nothing

Again, the key was under the mat. Jimmy picked it up and unlocked the door. He was shaking, just like the first time, even though he wasn’t as afraid of failing this time. Now, he was afraid of what Dean may do to him.  
He’d received his orders, but they didn’t tell him much about what Dean had planned, how rough he could be. The day before he had been so soft, so kind and gentle, but his texted words were different, frighteningly harsh.  
The first order though was for him to eat. For that he was glad. His diet hadn’t changed much, even though he had found an extra $5 in his pocket that morning. He had known Dean had placed it there, to get him to eat more, but he didn’t want to waste Dean’s money on that, didn’t want to owe him. He pulled a Tupperware out of the fridge and heated the whole thing up in the microwave. When it was thoroughly hot, he dished some out for Dean and ate some before.  
It was the best tuna casserole he’d ever had. He was sad that Dean was a doctor; he should have been a chef. People should have been paying for his meals.  
He cleaned his dishes and put the rest of the leftovers away when he was done, just leaving Dean’s dish to cool on the table. Then he moved on to the next chore.  
Under Dean’s bed was a large olive green duffel bag. He pulled it out from the darkness and brought it out to the dining room table. The bag was half full of toys, dildos, clamps, and floggers, which he arranged in two beautiful lines on the table, just as instructed.  
Then he was to strip – as much as he was comfortable with – and kneel on the floor, facing away from the door, head on the ground with his ass in the air. It was a humiliating position, one of utter subservience and weakness, and it left him disgustingly vulnerable to anything Dean may do to him.  
Dean was already going to be rough, he didn’t want to add angry to the mix, so he went into position anyway.  
And then he waited.  
And he waited.  
And he was cold, shivers running along his body, under his thin shirt. Even though he was shivering, he was still sweating, nerves alight and fear climbing up his spine. There was a lump in his throat and he wanted to cough, remove it, but he knew that wouldn’t work.  
So he waited, as his knees ached and his face froze to the hardwood.  
When he thought he couldn’t take it anymore he heard the door open behind him. He sighed, body relaxing. Maybe this meant that he could move soon.  
There was no gasp, no compliment though as Dean pulled off his coat and shoes. There was nothing. Not a single word.  
He didn’t greet Dean either. He didn’t know if he was allowed to.  
He could hear Dean though, picking up the toys on the table and then setting them down, picking out the right one. That didn’t stop him from jumping when Dean finally touched him, one hot hand landing on his hip, holding him in place.  
Dean did not slide a finger into him. Did not drip lube into his hole. Instead he pressed cold wet rubber against him, twisting and pushed until the tip was inside. Jimmy gritted his teeth, tried not to cry out as his innards burned at the intrusion. The plug was lubed, but not much, and he hadn’t stretched himself at all in preparation. He’d been told not to.  
Dean did not tell him to relax, did not console him as his body hardened, the muscles fighting against the hard tool being pushed into him. He just held his breath, kept a steady pressure, made Jimmy’s eyes swim with tears and his fingers claw at the hardwood, ass burning, tissues on fire.  
Then it was done and the plug was inside, all of the way. Dean stood and Jimmy could feel himself pulsing, could feel the tears he had fought rolling down his cheeks. He hurt, the burning turning into a charcoal ache.  
There was sweat in the curves of his back, soaking through his thin shirt. It clung to him, revealing the scars on his skin. He wished he’d worn something better.  
Dean was gone though, giving his body time to adjust to the thick rubber. Jimmy could hear him, sitting at the table, his fork clinking against his plate. He did not hum, did not make sounds of ecstasy. He ate as if the casserole was flavorless.  
He didn’t bother with washing his dish. He put it on the floor, right in front of Jimmy, and told him to clean it. That was when he knew how bad this was going to be. Dean wasn’t treating him like a sub, he was treating him like a dog. Humiliation and pain were coming, and there was nothing that he could do about it.  
Nothing he wanted to do. This was what he was, all he was good for. Obeying and hurting. Dean was finally stepping up to the task.  
Jimmy shifted, sticking out his tongue and licking at the fish and melted cheese. He did not hold the plate in place with his hands, but shifted and followed it whenever his tongue pushed it away. It was not delicious like this, it was work and his tongue was tired before the task was complete, his jaw sore.  
He licked until Dean deemed it clean enough, and then the stronger man’s hand was in his hair, pulling and forcing him up to his feet. He wanted to fight, some strange instinct from back when he was a novice kicking in, but he didn’t let it take over.  
He followed Dean’s lead and when Dean let go, pushing him forward, he caught himself on the sliding glass door.  
The blinds were open and he could see the apartments across the street. He could see the people inside and he knew that, if they looked, they’d see him like this.  
He couldn’t stop himself from whimpering, a hand on his back pressing him down so that his forehead was against the glass. It was cold against his flushed skin and he closed his eyes against it. He knew what was coming, even when Dean had left him. He didn’t move, didn’t leave, just shivered with the sensations of hot and cold, the knowledge of what was coming.  
That didn’t stop him from crying out when the first strike fell, the flogger hard and with small holes drilled through it, making it hurt more. He could feel his skin react, blood rushing to the wound, the flesh dimpling.  
Another strike fell and his knees started to buckle. Dean soothed the skin of his ass with the paddle before striking again.  
Jimmy was crying out with each one, legs weaker when they landed, pushing the plug deeper into him. He thought it was ten, maybe fifteen, before his legs gave out on him entirely and he fell to the carpet. It was rough against him and he hiccupped, tears running down his face. He was a mess, he knew that, but he didn’t care.  
Dean grabbed him by the hair again, growling as he pulled him back up to his feet, putting him back in place.  
“I didn’t tell you you could move.” He snarled.  
The strikes came faster, one after another, and Jimmy didn’t have time to cry out, to fight back, to react, between them. His legs moved on instinct, body recoiling from each hit, muscles clenching.  
“I’m sorry.” Jimmy sobbed, ass clenching too tight and pain flaring from the plug.  
“Please.” He begged through gritted teeth. “I don’t know what I did wrong. What did I do?”  
Dean wasn’t answering, but he was slowing, hitting harder again.  
“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”  
There was a puddle beneath Jimmy, where his tears had landed. Dean stopped spanking him, rubbed the paddle down against the crack of his ass and forward, pressing it against his balls. Was that where he was going to strike next? Jimmy clenched his eyes shut, not knowing what to do. This was so different than the Dean of the night before. He had no idea how to react, no clue as to what he had done to deserve this.  
“Who are you?” Dean asked, leaning against him, his clothing an itching sensation against him.  
“What?” Jimmy choked.  
Dean was so close, his lips against the outer ridge of his ear. He could feel the air rush from his lips. “Jimmy Novak lives in Pontiac, Illinois. He has a wife and daughter. He works in ad space, for Christ’s sake! You thought I wouldn’t find out? I work at a hospital. I have records on everyone.”  
And he shut down. All he could do was cry. He couldn’t answer Dean’s questions. He wasn’t allowed to. It was in his contract. Dean wouldn’t believe that, wouldn’t believe anything he said now.  
He fell to the carpet again, body just shivering as he seized and sobbed. This time Dean did not pull him up, did not punish him or order him about. What he did was worse than that.  
He left.  
Jimmy felt cold immediately, curling in on himself on the rough carpet, feeling each fiery pain relight as he shifted.


	5. Far Away From Me

Double whiskey. He’d ordered himself a drink before he even sat down. The bar hadn’t changed, other than in price, but Ash had explained that that was Dean’s fault. If he hadn’t decided to cut down the drinking he could have afforded secondary staff.   
He looked worried when he poured Dean his drink, as worried as a guy like Ash could be, with his flippant attitude and no care lingo. Dean drank it down fast, as if it were a shot, thrilled by the fire in his throat, burning at his belly.   
He didn’t want to think about what he had done.   
His tolerance was shot and he could already feel the whiskey in him, making too relaxed, too easy. He almost didn’t care when his phone started ringing. Ash was pouring him his second drink but he hesitated, staring at the ACDC ringtone emanating from Dean’s pocket.  
He sighed but answered it.   
“You fucking bastard!” was the first thing he heard and he pulled away from the phone. He looked but he did not know the number.   
“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number.” He chuckled, returning his phone to his ear.   
“Now you listen here, Winchester.” The voice growled. Not a wrong number then. “What you did to Jimmy was uncalled for. I didn’t allow you to use him so you could abuse him and leave him.”  
Dean’s mouth was dry. Zachariah was pissed. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, that would explain himself. Especially not when his hand was shaking, a second drink sloshing in it. He drank it for courage before speaking up, “He said he wanted it rougher. Didn’t know what to do when I was soft.”  
“Don’t make excuses! You abused him and left him with no aftercare! I thought you two were a good match! I thought you would care for him!”  
“I do…” Dean pouted. That was the problem. That was everything. He didn’t want to care.  
Zachariah seemed to calm down after that, his words slower and softer, “He called me. Crying. The last time I heard him cry was when his cousin died. He’s a sub, he’s supposed to cry, but he’s good and he doesn’t let me know when it’s something trivial like a scene.”  
“If it was so bad,” Dean interrupted, “he had a safe word. He could have used that.”  
A sigh and a pause, “You’ve seen him, seen what a mess previous doms have made of him. He safe worded for those scars. Safe words didn’t work. He doesn’t trust them.”  
“Well he should.”  
“He has to trust you. Trust that you will listen to them. You do know the rules of BDSM right?”  
“Of course.”  
“Good.”  
There was a pause and Ash was watching, looking over him. He could hear everything that Dean was saying and he wasn’t even trying to hide the contents of the conversation. In wine is truth, right? Or at least, in whiskey is some weird form of confession.   
“He told me that you hurt him because he wouldn’t tell you his real name.”  
Dean nodded. It wouldn’t transfer over the phone, but it seemed the right response. He didn’t want to say that there were other reasons too.   
“It’s part of his contract with me.” Zachariah admitted, “All of my boys go by fake names and they aren’t allowed to reveal themselves. It’s for their own safety.”  
“I-“  
“Don’t interrupt me Dean. I mentioned Jimmy’s cousin. His name was Balthazar and it was before the rule was set in place. He worked with parties. I can’t screen parties very well, not when there are last minute attendees and the like. I trusted the host though.   
“Turns out, one of the guests was a nutcase. Since he knew Balthazar’s real name he was able to look him up, find out where he lived…”  
“I’m sorry.” Dean interrupted. This time he was not corrected.   
“Balthazar was killed and it wasn’t in a pretty way. Hell, it made what happened to Jimmy look nice. So I made a rule. Don’t break it.”  
“I won’t.”  
“Here’s what you’re going to do.” Zachariah’s voice hitched and he was all business again. Dean wondered if this was how he spoke to his employees, “You’re going to sober up. You’re going to go home. You’re going to give Jimmy the aftercare he deserves. You’re going to fix this. If you don’t, if you fuck this up, we’re done.”  
“Yes sir.” Dean replied before hanging up the phone.   
Ash was standing there, cleaning the bar, but pretty much just the same two inches. He was staring intently at Dean, listening in.   
Dean just sighed and Ash jumped back into work, as if embarrassed to be caught.


	6. Ending What Had Begun

The door open and Dean was calling out to him. He didn’t know if he could respond, even if he wanted to. He curled in on himself, the smallest ball he could become, whimpering at the painful burning still inside of him.   
“Jimmy?” Dean called out again and this time he replied, light and raspy, maybe not a real word.   
He was exhausted and hurting, so cold even though the plug gave him terrible fire.   
“Oh shit.” Dean fell to his knees beside him, reaching out. Jimmy flinched, trying to pull away without moving. He hadn’t been told he could move yet. “Jimmy, I’m so sorry.”  
“Cas-Castiel.” Jimmy stammered, half into the carpet. If he had been able to cry any more he would have. But he was all cried out.  
“What?” Dean did touch him then, regardless of the flinching, the back of his knuckles light against Jimmy’s jaw. His words were so kind now, so reassuring. Jimmy didn’t know if it was real or not, if he would be disciplined again.   
He spoke up, his voice cracking from the dehydration from crying so much. “My name. Castiel. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have lied, I should have told you, I’m sorry.”  
Dean did more than touch him then. He grabbed onto him, not sure where to place his soft hands, moving him so that he was in Dean’s lap. “No.” He held him so that his cheek was against Dean’s shoulder, so that his ass was off of the ground, not touching anything, and the plug wouldn’t have more pressure on it. “No no no. Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. You didn’t deserve that.”  
“I didn’t tell you the truth!” Castiel argued brokenly, “I’m the problem. I’m always the problem.”  
“No.” Dean was trailing his fingers down Castiel’s cheeks, as if there were tears there for him to wipe up. “No. This had nothing to do with you. I pretended that it did, but no. You were innocent in this.”  
Castiel pulled away, just enough to look up at him. “What?”  
Dean leaned forward, resting his forehead against Castiel’s, “I can’t care about you, Jimmy, you know? I… I’m not good at saying things, but… I can’t do it. I’m so scared that I’ll care too much and something will happen. I wanted t force myself to not care about you.”  
Castiel’s face twisted as sorrow flooded him, more than just guilt and pain. He wanted to cry more, he wanted to sob and be held, be cared for. That was the problem though, Dean didn’t want to care about him. Dean couldn’t care about him.   
“I fucked up.” Dean closed his eyes, one tear rolling down his cheek. “I’m so sorry. If you want to leave, if you want to be done with me, I understand. I ignored the rules, abused you, took you past your limits, and then just dumped you. I’m so sorry.”  
He was clutching at him, hands buried in Dean’s clothes. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to be left alone. He wanted to be with Dean. When Dean was good he was so so good and when he was bad, well, that wasn’t going to happen again, was it?   
“Please.” Castiel gasped.   
He didn’t want to be unemployed. He didn’t want to be with a dom who didn’t come back, didn’t apologize. He didn’t want to have to go back to Zachariah as a failure.   
He didn’t want Dean to leave him.   
He didn’t know why, but he wanted Dean to want him, to want to care about him.   
“Please let me stay.”  
Dean’s hold on him tightened, pulling him in closer. He could feel Dean’s breath in his hair, his heartbeat through his clothes, his radiating heat.   
“Okay…” Dean breathed, “Yeah, okay… I’m sorry.”  
Dean started to stand up, still with Castiel in his lap, pulling him up as well. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”  
Castiel couldn’t do more than whimper in response.   
They walked, Dean half carrying him, to the bathroom. He was so gentle now, so caring, he was failing at that apathy he’d wanted. Dean helped him to turn around, lean against the counter with his ass facing the tub. He started filling the tub with water before turning the red and damaged skin.   
There were welts so bad that they were starting to blister. Every inch was red and angry, circular bumps from the holes in the flogger. Dean dropped once more to his knees, kissing at the wounds.   
“Spread your legs?” he offered, his voice so kind now.   
Castiel obeyed, revealing the plug.   
Dean was trying to be careful, to pull it out without hurting him, but Castiel gasped and pulled away, the fire alighting inside of him. Dean shushed him and kissed at the puckered and stretched hole. “Relax… relax…”  
He tried, but it was impossible. It hurt so much, he couldn’t get the plug out.   
Dean stripped and then lead him to the bathtub, making sure the two of them could lie in the water, a bit too hot for Castiel’s enflamed skin. He never asked him to take off his thin undershirt and for that Castiel was thankful. It soaked up water and lost opacity, but it was there, he was safe.   
Dean kissed his shoulders, hummed some classic rock tune, touched his hurts and slowly, so slowly, eased the plug out of him that it no longer felt like fire to be moved.   
“I’m yours tomorrow.” Dean promised, “How about that? Since I was so bad, I’ll do anything you want tomorrow.”  
Castiel tried to smile at the concept. Dean was sweet, in his way. But he was a sub, he didn’t know how to tell Dean what he wanted, how to be dominant and he was afraid of what Dean may do.  
“Never again?” he asked instead.  
“Never again.”  
Castiel fell asleep like that, pressed against Dean’s chest, hot water cooling and soothing. He was somewhat aware that Dean pulled them both out eventually, that he was dried and his shirt left in place – even then, with his shirt soaked, Dean wouldn’t betray that line of the contract. He felt some soothing balm rubbed into his angry skin and light kisses on his brow.   
Before he lost all concept of what was truly happening around him, he could have sworn he heard Dean murmur, all wrapped around him in bed, “You’re name’s Cas, huh? That’s a strange name.”


	7. Didnt Let Anyone Get In

Dean woke up first. Jimmy, or Cas, was still asleep, and for that he was glad. The little guy was tuckered out and Dean would have hated himself if he had woken up first. He sneaked out of bed, unnoticed as Cas was so exhausted from the night before, and made his way out of the bedroom and over to the kitchen.   
Cas was still so skinny. He'd tried to sneak a dollar or two into his pocket the first night, but it didn't seem to be doing much. The best he could hope for was to get some weight on him by feeding him. And this morning he was going to take care of him. He fried up some eggs and toasted some bread, wondering if he had a kind Cas would like. Some people were picky about bread. Dean wasn't. He poured him both coffee and orange juice though before putting all of it on a cheap tray he'd stashed away long ago and carrying it back to the bedroom.   
Cas was still asleep and, for a moment, Dean stood in the doorway, watching him. He didn't know if he should wake him up. He also knew that he cared too much, even though he had taken steps not too. He hated himself for that. He knew that he'd fail him.   
Eventually though, he did make his way to the bed, kiss Cas's eyelids until they fluttered and he woke up. He was groggy but his eyes lit up at the sight of the breakfast being laid over his lap.   
Dean watched him eat for a while, saw how he enjoyed it. Dean was a decent cook, he enjoyed the craft, but he'd never seen anyone take to his cooking like Cas did. He hummed around mouthfuls, made it sound heavenly and Dean had to fight the urge to eat it as well, to see if it tasted as good as Cas made it sound.   
"So, what do you want?" he asked instead.   
A light red came to the man's cheeks. "I don't know. I want whatever you want I guess."  
"It's your day. I said you could do whatever you want with me."  
Cas looked down though, stared at his food like it was no longer appetizing. "I don't know what to ask, how to ask. I can't be a dom, I can't be a switch. I don't know how."  
Dean hadn't thought of that, just how difficult this could be for a sub. He wanted to though, wanted to atone in his own way.   
"What if you begged for it?" he asked after a while. Sure it wasn't the same thing, but if it would get Cas to open up and demand something, it was worth a shot.   
Cas didn't look at him. He stared at his food. He was thinking about it.   
"Could you..." his voice was shaking. His hands were making fists in the sheets. "Please, sir, could you please suck my cock?"  
Dean growled, deep in his throat. Cas was so nervous, so vulnerable, and it was all kinds of hot. He buried his head under the tray and pulled down the blankets still wrapped around the subs abdomen. Cas was flaccid, cock uninterested, but Dean didn't care. He'd been asked and he would comply. He had promised.   
He sucked Cas softly, more pulling on the soft member than stroking it. There was some interest there though, Cas was slowly starting to fill, to enjoy Dean's delicate touches.   
He could hear Cas shuffling, moving the tray to Dean's side of the bed, trying not to spill anything. Dean worked harder.   
"Please." Cas gasped and he was still half flaccid, "Please sir, keep sucking my cock. Please use your teeth against me. Please."  
Dean did, applying pressure with his teeth he scraped at the sensitive skin. He did not bite, for that would be cruel, but the hint of pain was enough for Cas to harden up the rest of the way, to start panting light and airy beneath him. Dean held his hips down with his freckled hands, bobbed his head faster, more rigorously, feeling how long Cas could grow in his mouth.   
He kept going until Cas was trying to speak, unable to with the pleasure in him. He was gasping and bucking, ignoring all rules that had been ingrained in him as he thrust up into Dean's mouth. He was close, Dean could feel his pulse in his dick.   
"Fuck me." Cas gasped. "Please, oh god, fuck me. Please please please."  
Dean stopped, staring up at him. Was this really what Cas wanted? Or was he trying to get Dean to take what he wanted? He was such a good sub, he'd want to get Dean as pleasured as possible, regardless of his own desires.   
Cas reached down, past where Dean's lips were wrapped around the red head of his penis, and to his ass. He was still loose from the night before and he used his fingers to prove it, pulling away at the muscle and fat to reveal his empty hole. "Please Dean, please fill me up, please come in my ass."  
He was serious, he was asking for Dean to fill him up, this wasn't some weird form of making him be a dom. Cas actually wanted to be fucked.   
Dean pulled off of him, took the tray and put it on the bedside table, rummaged through it's drawers for a bottle of lube. He hadn't noticed how hard he'd gotten, just hearing Cas beg for him. He slicked himself up and slid inside. It was warm and tight and Cas was clenching around him, muscles pulling him in deeper. Dean couldn't help but grab Cas by the shoulders then, press hard rough kisses against his textured lips. He swallowed Cas's moans as he bottomed out, added his own to the mix as he pulled back out.   
Cas's hands were on him, holding him close, and he tossed his head back when he wasn't being kisses. His mouth hanged open and breathy puffs of groans escaped them.   
Dean moved faster, hips jerking, hands turning to claws as they held Cas down. The man was panting and moaning and crying out, precome dripping down his dick and pressing against Dean's stomach.   
"Touch me, sir, please. Let me come."  
Dean wrapped a hand around him, stroked in time with his thrust, pressed a finger down in between his foreskin and the head of his erection.   
"Come on baby, come on." Dean pumped into him, so close. "Come for me."  
Cas did, a choked orgasm spilling from his lips as his ejaculate shot from his penis. He was soaked in it, both of them sprayed in the white liquid, and Dean was right behind him, bruising his shoulders and the tissues inside of him as he came.   
He lay on top of Cas once it was over, both of them breathing heavily.   
"I have one last request." Cas revealed sounding distant and groggy. "Please, tell me why you can't care about me?"  
Dean shivered, pulling out. He was suddenly cold and silent. He rolled over so that he was beside Cas but not facing him. He made eye contact with the wall.


	8. Tracks Will Fade From Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait, I am working on my own original novel and all fanfiction kind of got pushed to the side as my future takes priority. I'm on a little bit of a break from the book though so here's a new (and boring) chapter.

Castiel stayed in Dean’s apartment for most of the day, even when Dean was back at work. His muscles were sore, his skin bruised and raw, his ass feeling like it was about to fall off. He kept touching at his rim, making sure that it wasn’t bleeding. He’d found that his stool was black so he knew that the plug had torn him somewhere inside.   
Dean didn’t mind him being there, told him to rest up. He hadn’t told Cas why he could care about him though, and Cas really had to know. He had to know what had happened in Dean’s life to make him try to be so distant. He was used to secrets, used to things being kept from him, and it made him feel like he was in danger. He wanted to trust Dean but he’d learned not to trust anyone fully and secrets made it harder.   
He knew not to go through Dean’s things, that was what bad subs did, but Dean was going through his and it was without permission. Cas had found the extra bills in the pockets of his coat, knew that it was Dean placing them there. He wondered if they were tips or apologies or something. He didn’t spend them, not yet, he was going to save it to pay Zachariah back. That couldn’t have been what Dean wanted him to do with the money though. So Cas could go through Dean’s things, if he wasn’t caught.   
Most of what he found was useless to him, books and papers, all on medical stuff. Cas couldn’t understand a word of it. The worst he’d ever had was a broken arm and he was six then so they didn’t give him the medical jargon. There were clothes, casual clothes, and a lot of them. They were all folded up, nice and neat, in Dean’s drawers. Lots of army green and torn up jeans, a couple of band shirts. Dean liked comfort when he wasn’t being a big hero. That gave Cas information but no explanation. Next to Dean’s bed, in the bed side table, he found an empty bottle of whiskey, an unused alarm clock, a few watches, a bunch of jewelry (men’s at least), and a photo in a frame. The rest of it was unimportant but he picked up the picture, took a look.   
It was a black and white photo of a man who looked like Dean but not by very much and a woman who looked far more like him. It was a wedding photo and Cas had to assume it was Dean’s parents. Perhaps he cared too much about them and they were gone or something, so he had to hide their photograph in a drawer. Cas wasn’t so sure about that though, it seemed like an overreaction. And it seemed like the wrong kind of care.   
He put everything back where it belonged and moved on, went into Dean’s closet. There were clothes, the nice ones, and there were some outfits in the back that Cas didn’t understand, a cop uniform and something that looked like it belonged in a comic book, but it wasn’t important. At the bottom of the closet were boxes though and those looked promising.   
Castiel knelt down, opened the first one and found it to be empty, all except for the smell of rubber. That was wear Dean stored his toys, it seemed. The next was more papers, medical journals, and transcribed reports. He skipped that one as well. It was the box in the back, hidden by everything else, where he found what he was looking for.   
This box was better organized than the others, a photograph of an obvious mother and daughter on top. The girl was blond, pretty, and the woman was brunette and matronly. On the back of the photo it said “Ellen and Jo – 2005”.   
Under the photo were papers, all of them medical. Cas didn’t know what half of the words meant but he read them anyway, catching what he could. It seemed that Jo had come in with migraines and it turned out to be cancer, tumors in her brain. Dean was her doctor but there was more to it than that, more warmth in the way that he wrote about her. They must have been close, friend or, more likely, lovers. He’d done what he could, chemo starting and stopping, radiation treatments, all sorts of surgeries, then the paperwork got confusing and Cas couldn’t understand it very well. It looked like there was an experimental treatment that Dean had decided on and Ellen wasn’t a fan of. He talked her into it though, said it was the only way. It had failed and Jo died. Ellen was so distraught that she killed herself, shot herself in the head, right there in Jo’s hospital room. She couldn’t stand to be without her daughter.   
Castiel set the papers down, tried to organize them back into the correct order. Dean had loved Jo, he was certain of that now, a kind of love that he could only feel once. And he’d done everything he could, cared so much, and then lost her. No wonder he didn’t want to care about Castiel.   
Castiel put everything back in the box and stored it back away. He was naked beneath his shirt and a robe that Dean had lent him, but he pulled away the warmth as he walked into the bathroom. He took a good long look at himself.   
He was thin, too thin, and he could see his own ribs poking out through his shirt. And he was scarred. And he was damaged. He could understand Dean’s concern. He had been depressed for some time, had been worried that he would kill himself for years, but he’d never done it. The desire was still there though, an easy way out of his debts and this life that he’d made for himself. If Dean cared about him and then he died, it would break him. He would have failed again.   
Castiel grabbed the robe and wrapped himself back up. He couldn’t lose. He couldn’t die from hunger or his own hand. He wouldn’t allow himself to. He couldn’t do that to Dean.


End file.
